


Primal Umbra

by Forgotten_Logic



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: 1st person, But it does help set the tone I guess, Dubious Alien Biology, Dubious Science, Eventually stuff will happen, F/M, Half of the stuff that happens are mindless headcanons that I have oops lol, Only the first chapter will be in 1st person. I've found I really hate writing this way. Oops., lol I don't know what I'm doing... I'm almost sorry.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgotten_Logic/pseuds/Forgotten_Logic
Summary: Her name is Luna Umbra. (I legit have NO idea what this is gonna be about! Oops)





	1. Chapter 1

I have gone down to the core before (or close to it, I was only allowed as far as the entrance to Victor Sigma), back when Optimus was only Orion Pax. Let me tell you, he changed a lot. He went from a small archivist in Iacon's Hall of Records to a tall, and (even more) dashing mecha; and a much calmer mech. But truth be told, he was silly and quite the party animal before he was named Prime. Oh yeah, he was worse than me. Now you didn't get that from me, you hear? 

Now, even if you did tell him, not he or any of the other mechs and femmes would be able to deny anything; I have too many pictures.

But back to what I was saying: the council elects you (can anyway) but that is only half of the act of becoming a Prime. You have to venture down to the core where Primus – who is the physical embodiment of Cybertron – if you are worthy, can bestow upon you the Matrix of Leadership, certainly not the easiest job to have.

I guess I never said what my designation was, did I? How rude of me. I'm Luna Umbra, but everyone I know calls me Luna.

Well they did, before I crashed and went into stasis.

Yes. Presently I am in stasis. Fabulous, right? Well, if it is or if it isn't doesn't matter to me at all at the moment, or in the future moments. I'm more than a little stuck.

I am "aware" enough to know that I am in stasis, but if I were to try and think of how to get back online, I would only fry my circuitry. I don't want to be alone and completely broken, even though what's matter now? I am alone on a primitive planet that can barely handle the basics. These creatures – before I lost control – are so stupid. And large. All they know how to do is eat, kill, and sleep, and maybe eat some more! (We haven't come up with a name for such dumb things but I tell you, they look so weird. Very first thing I bought they looked like were Predicons, however some could've been just a tad smaller.)

I only hope that Primus has some humor. Perhaps he could humor me in either allowing me to just offline – deactivate – be terminated – and let me have some peace in my spark. But, sadly, I know all too well that he is ignoring me. And it's all because I wanted to explore the cosmos while it was still in one piece before our war would tear it apart.

Some part of me is glad that I did, another part is just ashamed. I left my home; I left my friend, my dearest friend. I left him alone to fight this war. Never mind. I believe I lied (unintentionally) about being glad that I'm here: I am ashamed.

Perhaps it's far too late for any of this – for this war – for him – for me. I only hope that he could forgive me, which would be the only kindness I would ever want from him now. I have taken so much from him. I took up his time, and I've talked to him on joors on end about things that _are_ too mediocre for us. We have to be mature. _Had._ It's too late to try and be mature. 

I wonder what he is doing now. I wonder _how_ he's doing. What kind of plans does he have planned up to help end this war? Had it already been won? I hope and I pray (even though Primus is most likely ignoring me like a plague of cosmic rust) that he will be alright. 

Oh Primus, please just deactivate me now, won't you? I swear I'll be much more fun if I'm deactivated. I'll be able to make a damn joke that won't involve anything that involves – um – frag – don't listen to me, alright? I used to know what I wanted to share – to waste my time with – and maybe let loose but my processor is fragged enough as is. 

Too much interstellar travel. It messes with your CPU, and the rest of the neural net. To wit, is fragging great, just great. Primus, damn you, kill me! I hate this. I swear if I survive this, I'm going back to Cybertron and going to go deep into your core and just have a nice – calm – collected – talk with you. 

My processor is pulling up a blank, which is unsurprising. It was only a matter of time before that was going to happen. Perhaps It would be alright if I rambled but then again, it might not be. I could ramble, then again, if I do, I may not stop. Most of the "stuff" I have up in my processor is useless in this situation.

I hate it. I would love to be something useful at the moment. Virtually anything would be great at the moment, I would do just about anything. But then again, I can't do slag. Fragging slag. I want to be useful!

Back on Cybertron I was useful. Oh those were the good ole days! I could explore, take samples and practice anything I so pleased! And look at me now, I'm in fragging stasis! 

(But, if I continue this little rant, I'll just force myself into stasis lock.) So, fragging yay. 

Let's see if my chassis will be damned with cosmic rust while I wait. That would be nice, it's not like I would feel myself waste away. But, it's not like I care either.

You know what, I don't think I'm gonna be able to stay like this for much longer. I know so, actually. Really, it grinds my gears that I managed to do this to myself so well that no-one, not even Optimus could ever find me. 

But, do I really want him to see me like this? Well, either way, I haven't changed much... I think. I'm still only barely aware of what is around me. Sense of time? I don't have any of that. For all I know, it's been millions of years and I'm succumbed to Cosmic Rust or something. 

I'm no medic, that's for sure. I'm a scientist. Anything I know is so scarcely important that it could be deleted and no-one would frankly care about it. Even now I'm beginning to wonder if I have made a mistake in going into the field. I should've just been an aerial engineer, like what I was designed for, but my sorry-aft had to become an organic engineer – an environmentalist. Ah! The beauty of being young and stupid. My favorite brand of ignorance: my own. 

I'm not sure what I'm feeling, out the blue there's a tingle going through me. Initially and more importantly, I should be concerned but I'm not. But the feeling, it's growing. Absolutely growing, and frankly, it's beginning to quite irk me. 

My chronometer is functioning, or more closely to be correct is that it's booting up. Other smaller systems are booting up, too. Maybe I'm getting out of stasis. Oh, that's too hopeful to say the least. If I were, then I've hit the metaphorical jackpot of life. It's nearly impossible to come out of emergency stasis without the assistance of a medic. Internal programming and other protocols won't initiate properly. So, there's a lovely thought! I'll be glitched, fragging lovely. Not like it's too far from the truth already. 

Heat module, equilibrium, fuel reservoir, it's all powering up. By Solas Prime, everything's getting into running order! So perhaps there is a chance for me. Wow, since when did I become so cynical? 

The tingle changed to... I'm not quite sure how to put it. Maybe like an achy-burny kind of feel? I don't know but it's spreading faster than the tingle it replaced. It's certainly bearable but I don't like it. I don't _have_ to like it anyway.

I guess I'm getting closer to actually being up and about. My audios are working, through clouded with static. Lovely what disuse does, makes everything glitchy. The popping static didn't really leave, only faded. 

What? I could've swore I heard something. Obviously not the static; I'm not so stupid to misunderstand static for a voice. Well, that kind of throws out the thought I got lucky and hit the jackpot and slag. 

Well, CPU is at 90% capacity, may as well try and power on my optics. I know they're open, but I see absolutely nothing. I guess I should wait then, I don't need to be blind, too. 

Had a friend of mine once get put into medically induced stasis – which I know I would've preferred – actually try and speed up the process. To make a long story short, they ended up having to replace their optic lines. I don't want or need that to be the case with me. Frankly, I doubt that I would even have the necessary parts to repair them.

My frame feels... warm. Odd to say the least, my heat module isn't even dialed up, not enough for it to be useful. 

After a couple minutes, I attempted again. I got a dull blur, but even with it I could vaguely make out my surroundings. Not my ship. _Very_ much not my ship. _Tamashi_ was pure white on the side, floors to walls, all the way around. This place... it was a dull grey, lusterless. Although the lusterless part may very well be due to the fact my vision is less than clear. 

I did have a thought to move my limbs, my helm, but with that ache still present, nothing would respond. So, lovely. 

"Welcome to the land of the functional," said a voice I swore I knew. I moved my optics to where I guessed the voice emanated from. I recognized the chevron immediately. "Hatchet?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PPFFFT idk what's up lol
> 
> BUT I SAW THE LAST KNIGHT YESTERDAY OH SWEET BAB PRIMUS  
>  **((((Spoilers ish/Kind of a rant))))**  
>  (I liked it but still... there were aspects that I didn't care for. LIKE CADE AND THAT V chick. Idek her name.... BUT YEAGER PROGRAM has to live! Personally, I would've been cool if it were like an awkward hug but no, Paramount and Bay wanted there to be another love interest.)

Luna's voice crackled with static, barely audible to the medic who came closer. Her first attempt was a fail at a simple greeting, that she loathed. Her voice module rebooted and she tried again.

"Don't waste your power. Let it come on by itself," Ratchet chided her. He looked down at an unmarked datapad, pedes clanking against the floor. She sighed and waited for her systems to be at proper level. 

She knew Ratchet from awhile back, too, knew him back his university days as the Party Ambulance, and all that implies. He was crazy. He could dance on a pole like no-one's business and put most others to shame. Even a certain archivist.

He examined something on the pad, looking somewhere between confused and relieved. He hummed as he thumbed through the internal pages. "Luna, for Primus' sake, I'm amazed that you're still even alive." His optics narrowed. "Spinal laceration, broken left leg, shattered right arm joint, and to top it off, a dent against your cerebral outer layer and a broken finial." That would explain why she was in pain, although now it was a pulsing ache. But how she hadn't known about the injuries was surprising, she has one of the best internal health monolog systems, it should've picked it up. 

Ratchet adjusted the level for the Energon drip connected to her side, allowing for more to flow in. It's better when it's a slow drip at first as to not over exaggerate the problem further. “I was only able to repair your spine, leg, and finial. However, at this point in time, lack what I need to do anything for your arm or cerebral unit. I can repair it to a point, so it won't affect your memories any more than it may have already done.” He looked up from the datapad and sighed half-heartedly. “That’s the only trouble with being on this mudball.”

“Where are we?” she wheezed, this time without static clouding her words. Ratchet looked back to the pad but threw it back down after a moment of studying it. “A little planet called Earth. We came here about 7 Stellar Cycles,” he answered simply. 

“Hatchet.” Luna let her optics power up to 100% visibility. “Who is ‘we’?” She grunted when she moved her right leg to be resting at an angle. It relieved some pressure on her lower spine. “And where is my ship?”

The medic walked over and picked up a different pad, one that was labeled something, but it was at such an angle that it didn’t quite look right. “Your ship is where we found it. Deep within a mountain side. As to who is here, you’ll be glad to know that Optimus is here and Arcee. And your sister. A couple others.” Luna paused her thinking. Her sister! How in the Pit had she forgotten that she aboard the _Tamashi_? What kind of sister does that?

“Where is she?” Optics narrowed onto the ceiling, somewhere she didn’t have to think about what she was looking at. Ratchet didn’t answer right away, but she pushed away the building anxiety. If she were hurt, she’d be in here, too, in medibay. So that couldn’t be the case, or that was what he hoped. 

“Arma is on patrol with Bumblebee and Arcee. Bumblebee is a bright, young scout. They’re explaining what’s necessary for Terran culture.” Luna gave him an odd look, slightly gray optics. “Laws; safety regulations, so that there isn’t any reason for human involvement or interaction. No more than normal,” he vented, servo coming against his helm, rubbing behind his crest. 

“Humans.” _What the in the Pits are humans?_ Luna wasn’t physically conscious to know about humans, or what they had begun to call themselves when she crashed. She tried to maul over an alien species she’d run into while out on his cosmos explorations. There was that one planet… Tube or so recalled, full of organic creatures. Ones that looks suspiciously like Pedorabits. 

But there was that other planet… Zeal? No, Zull. That place was terrifying. Organics with hard, leathery skin, with large and extremely sharp tusks and teeth. Just their tusks put every other blade to shame. Needless to say, Luna didn’t stay long. But she was grateful to have come across Tube afterward. There’s a lot less chance of being skewered if the organics don’t have tusks…

“I’m not surprised you haven’t interacted or know about humans.” Ratchet tapped his digits together. “You haven’t exactly been conscious to deal with their antics.” She couldn’t but chuckle. “And you have, I assume.”

Turning his helm towards hers, his lips quirked at the corners, amused. “You have no idea.”

“Give me an idea then,” her playful retort reminded Ratchet of their university orns. They’d take on random topics and discuss. The one’s she had no idea on, she’d ask questions, and the same went for Ratchet. And now was no different.

“Ah, where to begin. They’re small. Think of a pedorabit, they’re about half the size. And that kind of makes them temperamental.”

“Kinda like you?” She teased. The medic glared at her. “Do I look that small?”

“No, but you’re sure as the Pit temperamental,” Luna laughed, though now it hurt her back and chassis. She tried to contain her wince. 

“Your Neuron Module has come online. Later than I though than I would’ve liked.” He walked away to tend to something. She knew that she had to deal with the burn that had re-established itself prominently from her back. “However, back to humans, they are our allies. Those in the government on the continent we’re on have stated that it’s important for us to stay hidden. It’s hardly unreasonable but it would’ve been nice to have some faith in us. We are an honorable people,” Ratchet went on from the other side of the medibay. 

“Humans sound naive,” she grumbled. “However, it does sound reasonable, yes, to stay out of sight. Remember when there was that Quintesson invasion? Maybe they’ve encountered something similar.”

“You know, I thought that, too. But no. These organics haven’t had anything so exciting happen to them. Ever,” what came from Ratchet’s vocaliser sounded oddly like a choked laugh. “Nothing that was actually real.”

“What do you mean by that?” She tapped idly against her thigh with her left arm, the only one that wasn’t tingling with repair nanites. It was on the verge of uncomfortable but it oddly felt nice.

“There’s countless video footage of ‘aliens coming to Earth’,” he said while making air quotes. “It’s quite sad really. If they didn’t shoot everything that moves, different cultures would be willing to come. But, for a species that can’t even agree on something so simple as different sexualities being real, I doubt they’re going to have any special visits.”

“Then my prior statement still stands: humans sound rather naive,” she sighed. How come they were on such a primitive planet? Surely there are other planets that are better suited for them and what they were doing. Wait. “What are you doing on Earth?”

The medic sighed, not turning back to her. “We followed the Decepticons to this miserable rock.”

“Decepticons,” she repeated. “We are still at war.” She hoped that it would've been over, that they'd won. 

It was a simple conflict. However, caste mecha wanting to be freed from an oppressive system. They lacked the basic freedom to choose what occupation that they wanted to follow. Function _is_ your right, Luna thought of the posters above doors, hung in windows, plastered everywhere, telling everyone that dissing the system was _wrong_. It certainly would cause problems for those who opposed to follow what their frame dictated what was possible for them to carry out. It’s what got you killed: resistance.

It’s why she left, part of it. Luna knew that it wasn’t going to be safe on Cybertron until the conflict ended, to wit, it still hadn’t. It’s an odd thing, she left and the conflict still managed to follow her here, an unmarked planet on her star maps.Pleasant thoughts, aren’t they.

“Yes, yes. Unfortunately for us. Not to mention that were are grossly outnumbered. Energon reserves are better since coming across your ship. We’ve had to fight and, as much as I hate to say it, we’ve had to steal to survive.” Luna didn’t need to see his face to know he was frowning, obviously. She groaned when she tried and failed to lift her helm. “Did you grab the EMP?” (An Energon Manager of Production.)

“You had one onboard? Those were hard to come by even back when you left Cybertron,” he had a surprised tone. 

“Then you didn’t go to the lower decks, it’s down there. Left of the first incinerator.”

“At least your memory banks seem to be intact, even with the dent,” Ratchet paused. “I’m going to have to fix that. Going to power you down.”

“Ah, back under I go, huh?” Luna asked, knowing absolutely it was a rhetorical question. Ratchet nodded. “I’d prefer earlier rather than later.”

“May as well just get me down now, it’ll be easier to repair my sorry aft.” Luna stopped her idle tapping, trying to relax her frame, venting in long in and exvents. 

“Yes, well. You’ll see everyone when you power back on.” The medic walked over, taking his servo under her helm, feeling around for something that uneducated mecha called the literal ‘off switch’. But first, he removed the top of the helm, flipping up from the back, revealing the soft living metal that was hidden under all mecha helms. He switched her off by pulling out a cable. It dangled lamely off the back of the berth. And with that, he got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you read this far! Thanks for reading! :3
> 
> Hey, anyone want to rant about TLK? >;3
> 
> btw that is not an invitation for hate. Thanks. Just saying.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL Today sucks banana balls but at least it's rainy. 
> 
> Happy Independence Day, America.

Bulkhead lumbered to medibay, curious about this new femme that they took from the ship. Not only that, but Optimus asked him what her status was. (He was busy with Fowler for some kind of matter the Bulkhead didn't concern himself with.) But what he saw was off putting and very unanticipated. Her entire helm was open, her neural unit was open and that isn’t something that anymech wants to see! He didn't gasp, he'd seen worse. But even then, it was certainly unexpected, to say the least. 

Ratchet did not need to look up to know exactly who it was, he'd come to know everyone's ped steps by spark now. Plus, it's not like Bulkhead was known for stealth. “What do you want,” he growled, servo’s deep into Luna’s cranial case. 

Bulkhead found this sort of position, practically watching Ratchet work on within someone, it still felt so awkward. “Prime uh -- he wanted me to ask how things were going?” He averted his optics from the comatose femme to the concentrated features of the medic, that at least wasn’t something that was so horrifying. Scratch that, Ratchet could be extremely terrifying.

“It would be going better if I wasn’t getting interrupted,” barked the medic. He removed the entire cranial unit, cables dangled from its connections. A sizeable dent showed prominently in the light. 

“Whoa, Ratch! That what put her out?” 

Ratchet hummed, turned back to the workbench decorated with tools, all in an exact alignment. He didn’t answer at first, easing apart the top layer of the spherical cranial unit. “Yes, so it would seem. Now, if you please, go away.” He continued to deal with the layer he’d taken on, making absolute sure that the soft metal was folded back into place – gently. “And tell Optimus, to come and see me when he’s done listening to that yammering Fowler?” 

The former Wrecker nodded, adding with a startled gaze re-affixed to the exposed unit, “Sure. What about that Arma femme?” 

Ratchet pulled a power pillar out of the center of the not-so dented area, only one of many smaller ones. “That, I’ll discuss with Optimus.” Without further addresses from either, Bulkhead left. Which was fortunate, pulling power pillars out while distracted could cause them to break, to wit, also could cause – for the user – poor nerve transfers all the way to data transfers. A job that must be well executed, otherwise, the user could glitch. 

Well, Luna was already a glitch to begin with. Though sound of mind, still a glitch, and she damn well knew it.

After a klicks, all of those tedious pillars were out and straight. Just as a precaution, he checked the other half of the outer layer. One or two were bent but none were burrowed into the casing.

Ratchet had started putting both halves of the outer layer back onto the cranial unit. It popped together with a click, soft and subtle, unlike the heavy ped steps that he knew to be Optimus’. He didn’t look up, nor greet, only proceed to put it back within her helm. Optimus didn’t say a thing, watching silently—aside from his steps that continued to edge closer. Ratchet reinstalled it, with Optimus all but looking over his shoulder. After plugging the cables back in, he sighed while closing up her helm. 

“Optimus,” greeted Ratchet, only lifting his helm, not turning around quickly. Before he could say anything, Optimus beat him to it. “How is she fairing?” He couldn’t help but roll his optics, now finally facing the Prime. “Don’t sound so worried. She’ll be fine, and will reboot before the end of the day.” He watched the cyan optics bounce from him to her and back to him. “Trust me as a physician.”

“I know, Old Friend,” the Prime started, optics gone again to the presently comatose femme. “It is only the new dynamics on base. We may not be able to supply everyone with their needed Energon for long. Do we even know if they can even protect themselves?” It was not the first time that Ratchet was in the listening position Optimus’ worries, although, Optimus did try not too much on the medic. Dear friends don’t and shouldn’t make friends worry. With the war and everything else: Fowler being a pushy human, a raging war, and two femmes who were marooned in a ship on the innermost side of a mountain. One couldn’t help but wonder: what’s next?

“Arma is fully trained. I know that. Luna on the other side of things…” Ratchet trailed off, looking back to the silver femme. “I don’t think she knows very much if any, close combat skills. Arma may have taught her some things, but, you know she was always more of the ‘mind is a weapon’ mantra.”

“From what Arcee has told me, Arma had taught her something. However, she seemed to have never stated what, exactly,” Optimus added with a rumble of his engines. 

Optimus most likely would never admit this, but he was worried about her. When she never returned to Cybertron, never responded to his Communications, he had assumed the worst. He and Ratchet, both did. They were her closest friends and assumed the worst, and all because the war had already taken so much. It wouldn’t have surprised them if she had died. But, assumptions did sometimes have an upside: this just happened to one of those rare good sides. 

“Did she wake up?” Optimus asked, concern showing more prominently in his field than even he cared for. Ratchet nodded and said, “She was almost talkative, and did hold a steady conversation with me. Apparently, she wasn’t here so long to have seen or known about humans,” he paused, mulling something over in his CPU. “She had her snark about her. Called me temperamental.”

“She was not wrong,” Optimus snerked, teasing the medic.

“Don’t you dare start that with me,” his engines growled. “She’s enough.” He pointed with a servo, not withholding his glare.

“Is it so wrong for me to joke with in a private sense?”

Ratchet sighed, walking away and towards the back of what made up their medical bay. Small and cheap. Thank you, humans. Cheap bastards. “Yes! Well, no.” Shaking his head, he picked up a marked data pad, flipping through a few pages. “I just much care to be teased. Bumblebee and Bulkhead are enough. And Miko. She’s started calling me Sunshine again.”

“You do tend to brighten everyone’s day.”

“Are you trying to be a wise crack?” The threat in his tone almost made Optimus smirk. He knew what would happen if he continued to tease him. He’ll have a sizeable dent in his helm like Luna did if he persisted.

“No. Perhaps.” He stepped back even though Ratchet was across the bay, he knew he should stay far enough away to evade any ‘stray’ wretches. Even though he is Prime, that does not and will not save him from Ratchet’s wrath, especially if he has it coming. 

Ratchet grumbled, now looking through a different data pad. One that had what looked like university marks on the back. Optimus kind of just stood there, not really being too curious and stood alone on the other side of the bay quietly. Or at least until Ratchet groaned. Optimus gave him a look, one that always managed to remind Ratchet of back before the war. Blast it all, they didn’t have time for that. 

“What is it?” Optimus’ prior plan of staying well enough away was abandoned as he came closer to the medic. Heavy pedes echoed in the closed off bay. Ratchet, he kept his optics down, intending to finished reading something, whatever it was. When he finished, he clicked his glossa against the roof of his mouth. “Just her stats. Everything -- _despite_ everything I should say, she’s practically untouched with any problems.”

“Even though you had to remove-”

“-Her cranial unit, yes, yes. Even when I hadn’t, she was still in practical and working order.” 

“What is to be done now, Old Friend?” Optimus stood taller, glad for knowing that his friend was going to be well off. 

“All that we can do is wait. But in the meantime, have you had fuelled?” Optimus paused, raking through his memory banks. As it turns out he hadn’t, not since before Luna and Arma were brought to base. 

“It seems that I have not. I do, however, have a request of you.” Optimus watched Ratchet, waiting for him to look back up again from the pad. When Ratchet did, he said, “I want you to make sure you fuel as well. No half portions.”

Ratchet knew he was guilty of giving himself the short end of rations. The _fighters_ \-- the _more important_ mecha needed it more than he did. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone; especially Optimus, he didn’t feel exactly needed. But Optimus seemed to read between the lines like the words themselves were spelled out for him. Ratchet hadn’t answered and Optimus placed his servo on his shoulder. 

“Please?” The pleading look in his deep sky blue optics made Ratchet relent. “Oh, persistent. Fine.” The medic couldn’t help but smile. Shaking his helm, he walked out with Optimus in tow.

**Author's Note:**

> So... Primus, I got a favor to ask you. Could you maybe stop letting me find drafts of stories from years past? That'd be cool. It would also be super neat if I could get an idea of what the slag could happen. 
> 
> Heyyy dudes. Yeah, I don't know what the heck I'm gonna do with this. Anyone just wanna comment an idea? Or something? Thanks for reading my slag! :)


End file.
